


Lāpule

by sheafrotherdon, Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a failure on his part, Danny understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lāpule

**Author's Note:**

> Written for robanybody on her birthday. YAY.

It's not a failure on his part, Danny understands—he defies anyone not to stop short in the doorway at the sight of Steve McGarrett spread out across rumpled sheets, lazily stroking himself. In fact, it's enough to give a man a heart attack—all that lean, tanned skin, that smirk on his face—Danny counts himself lucky that there's a doorway to lean against while he enjoys the show. Something must give him away—some creak of a floorboard, some hitch in his breathing—because Steve shifts, turns his head to look at Danny with heavy-lidded eyes, wetting his lips like he's halfway gone already just from the touch of his own hand.

"Hey, Danno," Steve murmurs, and he pushes his hips off the bed just a little.

Danny has to huff at that, has to throw his hands up and look pleadingly toward the ceiling, the heavens, any passing deity that might be willing to help him out because just, what is this, a man leaves the comfort of his bed to go take a leak, and then this. But far be it from Danny Williams to look a gift horse in the mouth or the... crotch, whatever—he crosses over to the bed and straddles Steve easily, cups his hand over Steve's and says, "Oh yeah?"

Beneath his palm, Danny can feel the flex of Steve's hand as he tightens his grip on himself. Danny swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry, as Steve grins up at him and says, "Just said hey, Danno."

Danny rolls his eyes, like he's not wise to that play at innocence, says, "I'll give you _Just Said Hey, Danno,_ " and shifts, slides so that they're plastered against one another, so that he can tangle his fingers in those stupid, stupid curls at the back of Steve's head and set about kissing his stupid, stupid mouth.

It's been weeks now, this thing between them, but Danny finds he still can't get enough of moments like this: the way Steve opens his mouth so willingly for him, stubble rasping, Steve moaning when Danny tugs gently on his hair. Danny smiles against Steve's mouth, grins when Steve runs a finger along the waistband of Danny's boxers and says, "You're wearing too many clothes."

"Seriously," Danny says, pulling back a little so that Steve gets the proper, full impact of the arched eyebrow. "Seriously, that line ever work for you?"

Steve does something—arms, hands, an ankle hooked around Danny's leg—and instead of getting an answer, Danny's flat on his back with Steve kissing a slow, lazy path down his stomach and he's forced to admit, okay, this, this is working for him. He stares at the ceiling, trying to clear his thinking, but it's 10 on a Sunday morning and before he went to the bathroom, they'd been trying to decide who should man up and make the Target run for essentials like toothpaste and coffee and peppermint patties. "So I take it back, you have your methods, I can appreciate that," he manages, although his breathing isn't entirely under his control.

Steve smiles against Danny's hip, grazes his teeth across the jut of bone there, and god, when the fuck did that become an erogenous zone, that's what Danny wants to know, when? When did Steve learn all the best ways to take Danny to pieces, to make him want to promise things he should have given up for a lost cause a long time ago? Steve's the kind of guy who normally jumps without looking, who makes a sport out of how many ways he can defy death before breakfast, but now the bastard's taking his time peeling Danny's boxers off him, working them down over Danny's already-aching cock while Danny curses at him and humanity in general, what's wrong with the man, honestly, is he looking for overtime here?

In all fairness, Steve doesn't seem to be thinking about work—he's looking up the length of Danny's body, and he raises an eyebrow, wets his lips again, and Danny wants to _kill_ him, kill him with his bare hands and... or, shit, god, okay, he could just let Steve blow him, that works too. Danny's done some light research into SEAL training—just to satisfy some of his curiosity, you understand, to give him a heads up on some of the things he's letting himself in for here—so he knows that Steve's been trained to hold his breath for some crazy amount of time underwater. _Your taxpayer dollars at work_ , he thinks a little giddily, because no doubt it took millions of dollars of US military training to give Steve the ability to do this—go all the way down so that his nose is pressed against the crisp curls at the base of Danny's cock. "Jesus", Danny says, voice thick and slurred, and fists his hands in the sheets.

Steve just keeps going, pulls off slowly and goes back down, increasing the pace so slowly that Danny would very much like to curse him out, but his words have gone someplace else, and it's only Steve's hands curled around his hips that are keeping him still. Steve's mouth is hot and wet and Danny has to alternate between looking down, seeing how Steve's cheeks hollow out as he sucks, and looking away. Because it's good, so good, too much, his orgasm building hot and liquid at the base of his spin, and when Danny reaches down with one hand to touch Steve's hair, his fingers are shaking a little.

Steve pushes into Danny's touch, and that's it, the stupid fondness Steve has for him, the way he likes to be petted, the way he's blowing Danny's mind and reflexively trying to get _closer_ to him—Danny gasps and comes, a gut-punch of pleasure, and everything's pretty fuzzy for a while after that. He floats, borne aloft only by sensation and instinct; has no thought beyond some vague recognition of the smell of their sweat, the sound of Steve's moans as he shifts to rub himself off against Danny's hip, the feel of so much soft-and-hair-rough skin against his palms. Danny touches him, everywhere he can reach, clumsily runs his hands down Steve's sides and up his arms, cups the nape of his neck and runs one foot up and down Steve's shin. He murmurs soothing nonsense to him, presses a kiss to the corner of Steve's left eye when he sees how Steve's eyes are tight shut in the pained anticipation of pleasure. He can't help but groan a little himself when Steve comes, when he shudders and jerks in Danny's arms, spills across Danny's already too-warm skin. Steve goes limp and boneless with an exhale that catches before it smoothes, and something in that syncopated rhythm makes Danny's own breath catch in his chest.

"Hey," Danny says, "hey, hey," wrapping his arms tight around Steve. He closes his own eyes against the realization that yeah, yeah, he's in a lot of trouble where his heart's concerned. "Hey, babe, it's okay, 'm'here." Steve hums and pushes against him, winds his limbs with Danny's until they're just a mess, they're never going to get untangled, and Danny can't bring himself to care, not one whit. It's only after a long moment that he can rouse himself enough to say, "Y'know, I'm going to have to take another shower, and we still have no coffee."

"Shut up," Steve mumbles. "Five minutes."

"Yeah," Danny says, "I think we started by saying that yesterday evening? And yet here we still are."

Steve stretches against him, runs a hand the whole length of Danny's spine, mumbles, "Complaining?" against his jaw.

"Who, me?" Danny says, and doesn't have to see himself in a mirror to know he's grinning like a goof. "Never."

"Thought not," Steve mumbles and kisses him with a smile.


End file.
